A Month of Sundays
by Kara's Aunty
Summary: Some love (and other) stories will never be written in the stars. And with good reason ... A series of HP and LoTR/Hobbit/Silmarillion crossover drabbles and vignettes.
1. Sex on legs

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Sex on legs**

* * *

If only he could fall into Middle-earth. If _only! _Where else would he meet a woman as perfect for him as she?

He swooned, imagining her hypnotic come-to-bed eyes, her beautiful dark tresses - and _those_ legs!

Oh, those luscious, luscious long legs! To feel them wrapped around him as the silken temptress bit and scratched his hairy back playfully …

What did he care if she was a bad girl?

He _loved _bad girls!

Groaning with frustrated desire, Aragog kicked his _Lord of The Rings_ paperbacks away in disgust.

Why did he do this to himself? Shelob could never be his!

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**


	2. Barking Mad

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org

*Rated for cursing (sweary words) and some sexual innuendo.

**Barking mad**

* * *

She hadn't _always_ been such a vicious old cow.

In fact, once she had been magnificent. Stately, even. So young, so graceful, so light on her feet. Always laughing, the most popular of her innumerable sisters.

They had been green with envy when she returned home one day announcing her intention to elope with a dashing suitor - the leader of his people no less! True, he was more of a naturalist whereas she came from a family of renowned agriculturalists, and she'd had to sacrifice the career she loved so passionately to be with him. But it was worth it because, at the time, she'd loved him more.

She swayed, recalling those early, heady days of wedded bliss when nothing had seemed more important to her than the security of her new husband's presence, the firmness of his arms around her; his earthy masculinity, the timbre of his voice reciting seductive poetry intended to get her in _just_ the right mood. Aah, those poems had been almost as long as his …

Stifling a sob, she shook the thought away. There was no point in dwelling on the past. No point in bemoaning the life she had lost because of his stubbornness and her own restless nature ...

Anguish made her lash out unconsciously, her ageing limbs barely missing two teenaged boys who had stopped nearby.

"Careful!" they yelled, dodging her knobbly arms, though both fled when she struck out at them again.

Boys! Horrible little buggers, every one of them. They grew up into men, didn't they? And men equalled trouble! She should know.

Glaring at their swiftly receding backs, her thoughts returned to the far distant past, and the horrible bigger bugger she had ended up with.

The arguments started only a few years into their marriage. Why? Because her sisters were debating moving abroad and she – dismayed at the thought of never seeing them again - suggested to her beloved that they join them. Predictably, he refused: she had known he would. He was so very stuck in his ways, so annoyingly traditional!

"I cannot leave, you know this. I am the leader of my people. They need me. They must be nurtured, protected, cared for. To leave would be unthinkable!"

Blah, blah, blah ... What a boring bastard he was. Absolutely no sense of adventure.

For weeks, months, _years_ they had argued, she pleading, he refusing. Their spats became legendary in the neighbourhood for their sheer volume and duration. She accused him of loving his job more than her: in retaliation he accused her of being selfish and irresponsible. Said she had known when they married that his job would be a major factor in their lives, and actually told her she had no right to even entertain the thought of running off with her sisters when her place was with him!

Why, oh why, had she ever mistaken his _raging_ fecking sexism for olde worlde charm?

After that, everything about him began to annoy her: his stink, his terrible complexion, that stupid slow voice droning on and on and _on_, his bloody irritating obsession with poetry, his equally dull friends and the arduous visits she'd had to endure while they immersed themselves in month-long political pow-wows. She could have been planting! Sowing! Discovering exotic new places while the sun warmed her back.

Instead she was stuck in the mouldering cesspit he called home.

And despite the fact that a bloody warlord had shacked up just east of their home and was preparing to invade, he'd actually suggested they start a family.

_Have children when a fecking maniac was preparing to burn them to a bloody crisp!_

There was no point in staying after that. To hell with putting down roots: there was no way she would sentence her children to death before they'd even been born! She'd had enough!

Distraught by the thought of being stuck in that dank, gloomy home with only a twat for company, she secretly made her plans. Waiting until he'd buggered off for another thrilling chat with his mates, she'd upped sticks and left him. Abandoned her dreary husband and their dreary home to travel the brave new world with her sisters.

What a joy it had been to be with them – to be free again. Free from the threat of invasion, free to explore new lands, to discover new species of plants. And then joy of joys! Far away in the western world, she finally found her true home. Oh, the wide open spaces! The rolling hills! The myriad plant life. The merry, delightful neighbours! It was intoxicating to be herself once again, to be free of her former, stifling home and her cloying, arsey husband!

For many years she lived contentedly in that wondrous place.

Many, many, _many_ years.

So long, in fact, that she could hardly believe it when she woke up one day to discover that the world around her had changed. Gone were the merry neighbours and rolling hills, and in place of the order such company had once brought there was only wilderness and dilapidation - and she herself had grown old.

_Ancient!_

Ancient enough to find that she had put down roots after all. Even her voice had been lost with age! Tug as she might, she had not been able to free her legs from the earth. Only the power of a strange wizard's magic had managed to excavate her. But buggery! She'd lost the use of her lower limbs in the process. The wizard had tried to repair the damage, but his strange magic had backfired: instead of the stately, light-footed lass she had ever been, the incompetent twat had managed to turn her into a hideous fecking _hag_. As unsightly a specimen of femininity as she'd ever seen!

The shock of that alone had almost killed her. Then, to make matters infinitely worse, she'd been flogged to the biggest, most gullible idiot of a gameskeeper she had ever met. True, he was the _only_ gameskeeper she had ever met, but that by no means diminished his sheer idiocy.

Which had left her in her current predicament: stuck in the grounds of a towering castle riddled with grotty adolescents, completely robbed of the beauty, grace and full mobility she had enjoyed for eons. Fimbrethil/Wandlimb that was: reduced from her former status of agricultural goddess and lissom young wife to gnarled curiosity for rowdy teenagers and haven for raging werewolves.

No wonder she was bitter.

And where was her adoring spouse when she needed him most? Because somehow – she didn't know _exactly _how_ –_ but somehow, this was his fault. Why, that bastard Treebeard hadn't even bothered to come looking for her!

Speaking of bastards …

The two twerps who'd yelled at her earlier had returned armed with a stick, and they poked it, laughing, into her arse. Unable to vent her fury vocally or run the feck away, the Whomping Willow resorted to the only defence she had left, and they were soon soaring through the air courtesy of her remaining (vicious) limbs.

Satisfied, she fervently hoped that - with a bit of luck - she might have done the rest of womankind a favour and broken their stupid necks ...

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: I know I've taken a healthy amount of liberty trying to turn Treebeard's missing spouse into the Whonping Willow. But what the heck. As the title of the series suggests, it would never happen anyway - not in a month of Sundays!

Kara's Aunty ;)


	3. Guilty pleasure

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org

**Guilty pleasure**

* * *

So absorbed in her illicit pastime was she that she completely missed his approach; so caught up in wild passion with a red hot stranger that she missed the tell-tale whiff of his spicy aftershave. She didn't even know he was there until he spoke.

"So I was right: you _are_ cheating on me."

At the sound of his voice she jerked around, startled, to find her former favourite standing several yards away flanked by half a dozen of his friends, glaring at her in deepest betrayal. Casually, she shifted her weight a few inches to the left in an attempt to conceal her guilt, but it was too late. They had already spied her partner in crime; the evidence of her infidelity.

"It's bad enough that you're unfaithful," said her accuser with a sad shake of his head, "but to steal from me, too?"

His friends tut-tutted in disapproval. She flushed shamefully.

But her accuser wasn't finished yet.

"If you think I'm just going to stand here while you act like a brazen hussy right in front of me, you're wrong."

Brazen hussy? That was a cheap shot. Especially coming from him. She'd thought he – of all people – knew her better than that. But no! He was just like everyone else, speaking to her like she was some sort of bloody maneater!

Holding out his hand, he stepped toward her expectantly. His face was emotionless now, showing no hint of the affection it had worn after breakfast.

"Give it back," he said stonily. Coldly. He might have been speaking to a stranger.

A wave of hurt swept her, and she growled as she retreated with her prize. If he was going to act like such an uncaring git – humiliate her in front of his friends - then he could go to hell for all she cared.

His face coloured angrily, as red now as his flaming hair. Parting his lips, he spoke slowly, carefully, enunciating each word as if she was some sort of imbecile.

"Give. It. Back. _Now!_"

No! She didn't want to. She didn't _want _to!

Grabbing her silent beau by the jacket, she looked wildly around for somewhere to hide, somewhere intimate where they might continue their romantic tête-à-tête. Tragically, it was not to be: seven wands had already been drawn.

"Don't make me use this," warned the gingery nut, brandishing his own weapon threateningly.

Heartless git!

She yanked at the chain on her ankle, desperate to free herself, to flee with her one true love; but the newcomers were already circling her. Dismayed, she turned pleading eyes on her accuser.

_Please don't!_

It was no good. His wand was already raised. The spell was already uttered.

And her beloved was already flying away from her grasp ...

She made a wild dive forwards, to no avail. Ginger Nut had caught it with one deft swipe.

He eyed his soggy prize in disgust before turning hard brown eyes her way.

"This is the fifth time this month you've done this. Look!" He thrust it in her direction, then, sensing that she was ready to spring, yanked it back. "You've ruined it! Slobbered all over it like it was low shelf filth. I'd expect this kind of behaviour from a randy schoolboy – and believe me, I've known my fair share of them - but from you?"

She snarled angrily at the insinuation and his friends took a collective step toward her.

"Well, I've had it," he spat, glowering at her in disappointment. "I can't afford to keep pandering to your needs: Muggle books are expensive, and difficult to come by in this neck of the woods! So I hope you've said your goodbyes, because you'll never see it again."

With that, Charlie Weasley pocketed his sodden edition of _The Hobbit_, turned on his heel, and stormed off, parting her forever from her beloved Smaug.

Norberta crumpled in desolation.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**


	4. Romeo and Julio

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org, lotr wikia, harrypotter wiki.

*Rated for sexual innuendo*

**Romeo and Julio**

* * *

Despite general opinion to the contrary, it wasn't his allegedly traitorous dealings that had seen him evicted from his home. No. What had, in fact, sealed his fate was the very unfortunate habit he had of talking in his sleep, for it had eventually revealed to all and sundry a very peculiar predilection …

Peculiar to _them_, at least. Not so to him.

It was so unfair! He and his love weren't even really _that_ different. Okay, his chosen one might be a little dim-witted, but loyalty was infinitely more important to him. _And_ they were still physically compatible, weren't they? Or they _would_ have been. Sort of.

Unfortunately, the difference had been enough to enrage his kin.

"_It is the difference between night and day! Between weed and tree! **Between sapience and mere sentience!**"_

They had demanded he abandon his love, but his refusal infuriated them so much they attacked. He'd only survived due to the intervention of a friend.

"_Detestable! Unnatural!"_ they'd shouted as he limped away clutching his wounds.

"_Depravity! Take your foul carnal lusts and begone! And woe to you if you ever set foot in this place again!"_

Flicking hair from his face, he squashed the unpleasant memory and gazed up at the stars twinkling above.

It wasn't even the fact that those same dreams had inadvertently outted him which bothered his kin: they couldn't care less how gay he was. Not when it meant there was less competition for the ladies. It was what they had against his chosen one in _particular_.

At least that's what they had said.

He snorted in disgust, recalling the flash of homophobic fear in their eyes as they shied away from him.

What was it with men? No sooner do they find out that one among them is gay than they automatically assume he wants to ride them.

Such vanity!

As if he could ever fancy one of those self-absorbed idiots! Cliquey, arrogant gits who thought they were better than everyone else. Always banging on about how clever they were, how superior, how virile.

Well, they weren't the studs they thought they were! He was sick of them! Sick of their poncy postulations and theories, repulsed by their pride, tired of their criticism; the constant confrontations every time he so much as disagreed with them. As if he could ever fall in love with one of those bloody narcissists.

No, he wanted a _real_ man. A modest one. A kind, warm, faithful mate who believed in him, who cared for him; who was courageous enough to take the bad times with the good and love him regardless. Someone who followed without protest wherever he led them because they knew he would never lead them astray.

And he had found his perfect mate, too, though alas! Only in dreams ...

Which brought him full circle.

Still, maybe his banishment wasn't such a bad thing, after all. He'd never fitted in at home anyway, not really. At least now he was free to do what he wanted. Free to say what he liked. Free to love whom he wished.

Even if the one he loved had left the circles of the world so long ago that his name was now no more than a fanciful legend ...

Grief gripped him then, sweeping his majestic body in waves, and - gazing up at stars which were as unobtainable as his beloved - Firenze moaned at the tragedy of it all.

"Oh, Bill. Bill, my sweet little pony! It was never meant to be!"

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: Fear not, there are a few more chapters planned. But this is the only sort-of-slashy one I'll do as it's not my usual genre. Hope the characters weren't too obvious from the beginning: I do try to keep you guessing, but it's such hard work!

Kara's Aunty ;)


	5. Flirtation

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **HP & LoTRwiki(a)s, gbooza.

**Flirtation**

* * *

Ooh, he was wonderful! An absolute _dreamboat_!

She preened herself unconsciously, blushing at the naked desire in his eyes.

How tall he was! How strong! How _mature__!_ Not some silly little _boy_ like Harry Potter - who couldn't so much as boast of a single hair on his chest (she knew, she'd seen). No, he was much older. Much more ... _experienced_.

Grinning as if he could read her thoughts, he puckered his lips and blew her a kiss. She moaned aloud, imagining that expert mouth locked onto hers like a plunger on a blocked sink.

_Merlin,_ she gasped, her bosom heaving as she fought for control of herself, _he was soooo naughty_! He really put the 'right' in fright! The 'care' in scare!

The 'super' in natural!

Moaning Myrtle laughed coquettishly at the King of the Dead, who tipped her a lascivious wink from the depths of the Mirror of Erised …

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**


	6. So Wrong it's Right

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org

**So Wrong it's Right**

* * *

Flubba-lubba-lubba-lubba-lub!

There was a_ terrible_ racket from above. What was happening?

Flubba-lubba-lubba-lubba?

Curious, she poked her head above the roof of her house to find giants roaring, lights flashing and children yelling. Alarmed, she quickly descended back into the safety and quietude of her beautiful home. Then:

Flubba-lubba-lubbaaaarrgh!

A body crashed onto the roof of her house, dangerously near, and fell, thrashing wildly. Coloured magic spewed from the tip of its out-of-control wand, hitting one of the exotic plants the Herbology witch had casually thrown her way last year. However, what seemed like a kindness at the time now seemed like a _very bad idea _indeed: whatever spell it had been struck with, the swaying red plant reacted badly to it, exploding into a ball of intense blue light, swelling larger and larger, reaching toward her ...

_Lubbaargh!_

She was going to hit it!

Horror-stricken, she swerved to avoid it, but her momentum was simply too great …

_Lubba-LubbaaAARRGH!_

Terrible brightness enveloped her, and soon she was falling, falling, falling …

_Splash!_

Flubba-lubba-lubba? Lubba-lubba?

Unable to believe her good luck, she resurfaced, thanking Merlin for her very great fortune in landing in such a handy lake. It was not the cleanest lake, it had to be said – in fact, it was bloody fetid – but at least it was softer than hitting the ground!

Breaking the surface, she looked around to find that cliffs surrounded her; vast and impenetrable they were, and they stretched for miles. There was no sign of a way out.

Flubba-lubba-lubba-lub? Flubbedy-lub? Blubba-lubba-flub-flub?

Oh, my! Where was Hogwarts? Where were her friends? How would she get back home?

Suddenly there was motion beneath her and, terrified, she stilled. A huge tentacle reared out of the water, wriggling, searching.

_Searching for her!_

She stared breathlessly as it was followed by another, and another. There were dozens of them! Long, sinuous tentacles - _very _sinuous tentacles. _Very, very _sinuous tentacles. Which could only mean one thing: somewhere beneath the water …

_There was a boy!_

FLUBBA-LUBBA-LUBBA! FLUBBA-LUBBA-LUBBA! FLUBBA-LUBBA-LUBBADY-LUB-LUB-LUB!

Hogwarts was history and all fear forgotten as instinct kicked in: she dived beneath the water to meet her new mate. Already he was waiting for her, eyeing her hungrily, randy arms outstretched. Clearly, _he_ was gagging for it too …

With the speed of absolute desperation behind her, the Giant Squid swam like a maniac as she waved goodbye to her virginity. The Watcher in the Water welcomed her with open tentacles.

All thirty-plus of them.

She was in for a _very _good time indeed!

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: I know, I know. You probably guessed this one straight away; and I may have used some artistic licence with regards to the Giant Squid's gender, but it was never specifically stated (to my knowledge). Besides, I just couldn't resist this particular lurrrve match …

This chapter is dedicated to all those anonymous/unregistered reviewers that I can't reply to personally. Thanks for your support!

Kara's Aunty ;)


	7. Abomination

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

_Please review!_

**Abomination**

* * *

It was a union so unnatural that, when the Valar learned of the secret portal between past and present, they destroyed it instantly, thus bringing a halt to the terrible trysts. For a union between two beings of such unparalleled evil could result in nothing but terror and despair.

His dessicated lips curved into a rare smile. One night of savage passion might have been all he shared with fair Bellatrix, but it had been enough. And though his touch would drive her insane eventually, his goal had been achieved: despite what the golden-haired Elf had prophesised, the legacy of Angmar _would_ live forever, even if the unthinkable happened and the Witchking did not.

Nine months later - and eons away - the Dementors were born …

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: This chapter's a bit darker than the rest ... I was going to make it longer, flesh it out into a sort of mini-saga, but – honestly - the thought of writing a lurve scene between those two was just too much!

Kara's Aunty ;)


	8. Innocence lost

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **Thesaurus dot com.

**Warning: **Rated for being really quite naughty, folks. No under-15s on this chapter, please.

**Innocence lost**

* * *

_What a woman! _he thought, leering at her hungrily, though - sundered as she was from him - the object of his affections took no notice of his attention.

He gazed at her in rapt admiration – nay, _adoration_ – as a minion was dragged, kicking and screaming, from her glorious presence.

_She bats not an eyelid at his distress!_ he observed approvingly. _Indeed, she thrives on it!_

_What a woman!_

A feeling he had never before experienced welled up within him then, surprising him, thrilling him with the sheer power of its force. The need to touch her, to fondle her sagging curves – to bury himself deep within that most secret, silky part of her and scream with the sheer pleasure of it all – gripped him, and he almost doubled over at the intensity of the alien sensation.

So this was lust, was it? Pure, primal, unadulterated sexual desire? Something he had never before understood nor wished for. Something he had – along with that foulest of emotions: _love_ – scorned as worthless, other than when used as a tool to exploit others.

But maybe that was simply because he hadn't met the right woman before?

Now, on the other hand, he _had_ (sort of).

Only this soulless _goddess,_ this depraved diva, this sensuously seductive psychopath possessed the power to catch his eye as no other had; to make him burn with the sheer desire of his need for her. No other female had ever been worthy of the honour of his hand, let alone fit to …

Motion disturbed his ruminations and all thought processes froze as his gaze locked hungrily onto the medium which permitted him sight of her. The woman had departed her chamber of power and was now strolling past a veritable horde of weeping inferiors: they fell to their knees before her, begging, pleading for their lives. She threw them naught but a scathing glance before swanning by, her face a picture of contented delight.

Of utter evil.

It was too much. Lust crescendoed within him, then exploded like freshly ignited blasting powder, and he barely managed to grab the plinth for support as he arched, screaming and screaming and _screaming_ ...

Half an hour later, fighting to control his ragged breath, he tore his gaze from the Palantír and staggered to the door of his mighty tower.

_WHAT A WOMAN!_

Perhaps it was time to acknowledge the inevitable and take a wife after all? True, it would have to wait until the Free Peoples of the West had been utterly crushed, and acquiring the desired spouse would take some ingenuity considering the gulf of Space and Time that separated them, but it would be worth it to claim her as his blushing bride.

His _Queen_!

The Dark Lord Sauron drooled with anticipation as he hobbled from the tower chamber.

Dolores Umbridge _would_ be his!

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: Possibly the naughtiest thing I've ever written. Or ever will, I hasten to add. Raunchy fics are neither my forte nor to my taste, but the concept behind this one was just so outrageously hilarious that I couldn't resist. I was going to title this chapter something along the lines of 'Deflowering the Dark Lord' but, as much as I loved it, it would have made the chief subject immediately obvious. As it is, both he & Umbridge may have been obvious as the subjects anyway ...

And before anyone points out that Sauron's … ahem … 'ultimate pleasure' lasted an _awfully_ long time, let's just put it down to the fact that he's a Maia, shall we?

*****wink*****

Kara's Aunty ;)


	9. Mail Order Bride

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias.

**Mail-order Bride**

* * *

_Handsome, popular, respectable, financially secure 'silver fox', lives in spacious castle accommodations with sprawling grounds. Fair and loyal to a fault, with very GSOH. Seeking pretty lady for sweet romance and possible marriage. Magical prowess irrelevant. Must be house-proud. Must be infertile and/or hate children. Must be an unscrupulous sneak. Must enjoy bondage and domination. Must love cats._

_Interested?_

_Return letter and photo via accompanying post-owl to:_

_Argus Filch_

_Janitorial Dept._

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry_

_Scotland._

* * *

Dear Master Filch,

I am young and beautiful; intelligent and crafty; fertile, but detest children. I would love to bond with thee and dominate thee, if that is thy desire. I also possess a retinue of servants ready to bend and scrape to thine every whim. Have dabbled in sorcery (to gather intelligence on useless minions) but am not a witch per se. Cats love me.

If thou art willing, I would be delighted to accept thy proposal of wedlock and live forever in thy magical castle in the enchanted Land of Scots, wherever that may be. Please send immediate rescue party to: The Sea, Middle-earth, Arda.

Thy future wife,

Beruthiel, former Queen of Gondor.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**


	10. The Mistress

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias.

**The Mistress**

* * *

She peeped out from behind an enormous tree, watching him from afar as he roamed happily through the forest bewitching everything he passed.

What a striking fellow he was! And so talented! There could be no doubt about how green his thumbs were – or rather, his vocal chords. Though it was certainly a peculiar way to go about the business at hand ...

Still, he had a very _nice_ voice, if a completely bizarre vernacular. Then again, what did that matter as long as he was fluent in the language of love?

And such colourful attire he wore, with its dash of Ravenclaw and splash of Hufflepuff! Clever _and _loyal!

Best of all, he was of an age with her. Well, he _looked_ it anyway. Old enough to have a trick or ten up his sleeve. Or down his trousers ...

Phwoar!

In fact, he absolutely had everything going for him! Except for one tiny little thing.

He was married ...

Just her luck, really.

And married not just to any ageing heffer, either. No, his old ball-and-chain was an elegant sylph-like goddess, damn it! A nubile temptress with the face of an angel. A sweet, beguiling, lissom slip of a girl with hair down to her knees and the perkiest pair of whatsits this side of a Veela convention.

Bugger it all!

Still, too much of a good thing was a bad thing, wasn't it? He might get bored of her after a while and leave. Which would be a shame really, because – despite his wife's sickening physical perfection – the lady still seemed like a fairly decent sort.

Perhaps _she_ could help her out, then? Distract her husband for a bit with her own screaming imperfection, so that he might better appreciate what he had at home? Why, she would be doing them a favour. Saving their marriage, even! And as long as the gent fancied the idea of a tumble with a hairy, behatted Mimbulus Mimbletonia of a woman with a pair of enormous, droopy bubotubers to boot, it would work!

She sighed ruefully as the effects of the Patented Daydream Charm wore off. Her eyelids fluttered, bringing her back to the harsh reality of her greenhouse office.

Who was she kidding? As if she, Pomona Sprout, could ever be anyone's mistress! Hah! She was more of a wart on the arse than a bit on the side. Anyway, she could never do something so dishonourable.

Time to shake all fanciful thoughts off, then, and get back to the job at hand!

Grabbing a pair of secateurs, Professor Sprout rose and headed determinedly towards the Venomous Tentacula, humming her own version of her dream-man's signature tune.

_Old Tom Bombadil is a handsome fellow!_

_I'd love to find his head resting on my pillow._

_Not just his head, of course, that would alarming;_

_each luscious bit of him would be far more charming!_

_And useful ..._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**


	11. The Harem

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. The Hobbit belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias.

*****Rated for language and sexual innuendo.

**The Harem**

* * *

It was a common misconception that she had died. In fact, she hadn't.

What had _really_ happened was that she ran away from her useless lump of a second husband. Even though better endowed in the trouser-snake department than her first (whose doo-dah was the size of a maggot), neither he nor his predecessor had been able to satisfy her needs (in the kitchen or otherwise). To make matters worse, their inferior gene pools could only produce shockingly abnormal brats that made her the laughing stock of her community!

With no further use for them, she'd dumped both brats and spouses one after the other, and gone off in search of husband number three.

Which was when she fell down the rabbit hole.

A _gargantuan_ rabbit hole!

Down, down, down she fell, bypassing Wonderland altogether, and landing smack bang in Middle-bloody-earth.

At the feet of three of the most blindingly attractive men she had ever laid eyes on ...

At first they were shocked, springing back defensively when she landed by their camp fire. But then, as they realised what had just happened, and _what_ she was, the trio's faces lit up in carnal delight.

Transfixed by their magnificence, she gasped.

In the name of Merlin himself! Who would have thought that she could go searching for one good man and stumble across a veritable colony of them instead? Her own personal harem! Luvvy! She could already _feel_ her ovaries jumping for joy!

She stared up at them for many long moments, dazzled by their beauty, their stature, their sheer _masculinity_. They absolutely _reeked_ of the promise of hot sex (and big, bouncing babies).

Grinning, the trio tossed their mutton aside and advanced on her in unison, ogling, moistening their lips, and undoing their breeches as they sped her way.

"I'm Bert."

"I'm Tom."

"I'm William."

"And I'm ecstatic," she breathed happily.

Introductions over with, and thrilled by her very, very good fortune, Fridwulfa sprang up, batted her eyelashes seductively, and readied herself for the mother of all shagfests ...

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: Fridwulfa was Hagrid & Grawp's mother. You probably knew that already, but just in case you forgot!


	12. Stolen Moments

******Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. The Hobbit belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias.

**Stolen Moments**

* * *

She slipped cautiously into the room, fearing discovery above all else. If anyone saw her …

Shivering delicately, she repeated the mantra designed to calm herself at such crucial times:

_"I won't think about it. I won't, I won't, I WON'T!"_

It helped; the shivering ceased. Not that she really _had_ anything to worry about, having already carefully timed her illicit visits to coincide with the midnight hour. Everyone would have long since retired to their beds.

Satisfied she tiptoed across to her goal. Movement in her current environment was difficult, as harsh and stiff as it was, and so her motion was sluggish - uncomfortable, even. But she endured it happily. She would endure anything for him. Within seconds, she stood before her heart's desire.

"Hello again, my love," she whispered, gazing up at his handsome face hopefully, praying he would respond to her this time.

He did not. His yellow hair streamed behind him in the same wind that might well have carried her words away from him, though she stood mere feet away.

"Won't you even look at me, dearest?" she murmured sadly, reaching out to touch him. Her hand wavered as it hovered over his knee and, with a sigh, she let it fall back to her side.

"I suppose I can't really blame you," she said softly, more to herself than to him. "You can't help it. And why should I be surprised? Men only ever want one thing from me anyway, and once they've got it, they just throw me aside! I've come to expect it, now. But I take no pleasure from it, dearest. Really I don't! It makes me feel so cheap and tawdry. So you mustn't believe the rumours about me - I don't ask for it. Well, not _all_ the time."

She broke off, stifling a sob at the tragedy of her existence. Wiping moisture from her cheeks, she returned her gaze to her silent beau.

"I know you can never be mine, dearest. I know ours is a love that was never meant to be, Muggle that you are; but I just can't seem to stay away from you. You're so different to anyone I've ever known; so tall and strong. So noble and fair and manly ... oh, I can almost imagine being swept up into your arms and carried off into the sunset."

Which would be a feat in and of itself.

The thought of being crushed against his rock hard chest was enough to give her palpitations, and she had to fan herself violently with a hand. Not that he noticed, or - if he did - he didn't comment on it.

She didn't care. Even though he never acknowledged her presence, she couldn't resist the lure of his. To see him, to gaze upon his noble face and proud seat …

More violent fanning.

It wasn't_ just_ because he was handsome that she came back time and again, though. She didn't even mind that he ignored her - he had little choice in the matter; their different stations in society demanded it. He was bound by rules of state and decorum beyond even his control; for him to even glance at her, let alone speak with her, would cause an outcry of unimaginable proportions. No, she kept coming back because, though he never acknowledged her, neither did he send her from him.

Ever.

It was as if he sensed that these forbidden rendezvous were all they could ever have. Her beloved always sat patiently when she arrived, always impartial, never questioning her occupation, never criticising her appearance, or her very alarming fondness for copious amounts of wine (of any colour). He was too noble, too gallant and far too honourable for such behaviour. And – though he loved his land and would always do his duty to it – she knew that he could no more forgo the pleasure of her company, however brief, than she could of his.

And that only made her love him more.

Somewhere behind them came the creak of a heavy door. Terrified of being caught and thus compromising her silent beau, she gathered her skirts and, turning, began the arduous trek back home.

"Until tomorrow, sweet prince," she promised, throwing him one last, lingering glance over her shoulder just as the heavy tread of a guard's boots neared them. Predictably, understandably, he remained unresponsive.

Smiling faintly, the Fat Lady hitched up her skirts again and fled from the tapestry, yearning for the time when she might lay eyes upon her beloved Eorl the Young once more.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**


	13. Rebirth

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias.

*****Rated for naughty innuendo, so don't read if you're under 15!

_For Certh. Hope you enjoy it! :o)_

**Rebirth**

* * *

The first time she ever saw him was the day she woke up in a strange room with a blinding hangover. He was sitting by the bed, watching her attentively with those beautiful big eyes, mumbling to himself.

As soon as she was able to focus properly, the attraction was instant and all-consuming; so intense that it completely banished the agony of her former life, and the ultimate betrayal she had suffered because of it.

And he felt the same!

Unable to keep their hands off each other, they had made love, sweet love, right there on the bed. Then on the floor. Possibly on the windowsill. Definitely on the ceiling.

When they had exhausted each other, and she lay cradled in the safety of his sinewy arms, legs entwined together, she asked him how it was that he came to find her. Smiling irresistibly, he tenderly traced her jawline with a long finger and said that she must have needed him. Two seconds later, they were at it again …

Later - still enchanted by the memory of his response - she supposed that it may well not be too far from the truth. She had certainly needed _something_ to ease the stifling sense of rejection and betrayal she suffered under; it was the main reason she drank so much.

Or used to. Not any more. Sex was the new drug of choice, and by far superior to its predecessor.

And she couldn't get enough of it, nor of him.

All day long she would think about him, whiling away the boring hours at work until she could be with him again by recalling the electric touch of his skin on hers; and all night long … oh, _all night long_ the feel of his hot breath on her cheek would drive her absolutely _insane_ as two became one in their secret lovenest.

And last night it had happened – he had declared his love for her. So ecstatic was she that she had wept in his arms, alarming him to the point of panic. Only the sight of her tear-streaked, yet beaming countenance, as she gazed into those beguiling eyes of his had reassured him. He made her feel so safe, so secure.

So _wanted_.

And that was something she desired above all else.

A bell rang overhead, announcing the end of the evening meal. Eager to be with her lover, she ignored the dirty dishes and dashed past her scandalised companions. Within seconds she was up the stairs and through the door of the Room of Requirement.

He was already waiting for her.

"Master," she breathed euphorically, using the pet name she knew he loved.

"So beautiful," he said, admiring her scantily-clad body.

She blushed. "I has brought nice juicy fish for you to eat, Master," she said, pulling her arm from behind her back and waving the squirming salmon in his face.

"Fishes later. First, _you_. Come here, my Preciousss," he whispered sibilantly, crooking a finger at her seductively.

Tossing the wriggly fish aside, Winky leapt, and both she and Gollum crashed onto the carpet in a blaze of red-hot passion that lasted long after the poor salmon had gasped its last …

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: I know. I'm bad ...

*winks*

Kara's Aunty ;)


	14. A Matter of Perspective

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias, Thesauraus dot com, arvindguptatoys dot com.

**A Matter of Perspective**

* * *

He was full of a deep, worldly introspection which he happily shared with those who sought his wisdom, be they young or old, great or ghastly.

Yet often, when he had a moment to himself, he would spend hours - days even - in quiet reflection, glad of the solitude afforded him. Only then could he indulge himself, reaching out across the eons for _her_. Reaching without moving, yet stretching himself to the limit, eager as ever to partake in their forbidden trysts ...

_How unique she was!_ he thought, delighting in her company yet again._ How magical!_

He would gladly gaze upon her forever, drinking in her curves, her understated elegance, her ethereal beauty. She had every reason to be vain and proud; to be superficial and transparent, as magnificent as she was. But she was not. In fact, there wasn't a shallow bone in her body!

Not at all.

Indeed, what he _really_ loved about her was her incredible perceptiveness and powerful insight. Yet she was also exciting and completely unpredictable; always changing her mind, forever keeping him guessing …

Intelligent _and_ naughty!

"You're such a little tease, my radiant beauty," reflected the Mirror of Erised huskily. "But you're _my_ little tease!"

The Mirror of Galadriel shimmered back at him provocatively.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: A bit of a daft one, perhaps, but given their usual functions, I credited them with an 'almost' intelligence, and thought that they were, therefore, fair game ...

Kara's Aunty ;)


	15. Convergence and Divergence

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings, The Hobbit and The Silmarillion belong to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **en-wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias

**Dedication: **For Larissa, for channelling me ... :o)

**Convergence and Divergence**

* * *

"Begone, foul Eye! Ere would I sunder myself from this life altogether than endure thy presence again!" declared the stately man.

But all was not as it seemed. One eye became two, framed by large, thick glasses, and they grew to enormous proportions. They transfixed him, refusing to release him from their gaze. A voice came suddenly out of the shadows, soft and misty it was. Feminine, not the dreaded masculine hiss he was used to; and yet its very peculiarity struck fear into him.

"_Inner_ Eye, my dear," it greeted, sounding inappropriately pleased (he thought). "And how wonderful to meet a fellow Seer at last! Let us embrace our Gifts together, you and I. Or should that be you and_ Inner_ I?"

The sound of faintly hysterical female laughter made him shudder. "Sooner shall I embrace a lightning bolt, madam!" he said, fear morphing into contempt as he turned to leave.

"Wait! I have a prediction for you before you go!"

Against his better judgement, he paused.

"You are in grave danger," said the voice dreamily.

He turned, eyeing the eyes impatiently. "Danger from what? Speak now!"

The eyes blinked once, then suddenly became unfocussed. Gone was the soft, faraway voice, replaced by harsher, rasping tones.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Mad Lord approaches ... Bringing one sworn not to defy him, born as the jester of four … and the Mad Lord will mark him with his favour, but he will hail power the Mad Lord likes not … though neither will die by the hand of the other yet one shall observe as the other one fries … the one with the power to vanquish the Mad Lord will be born to devour mushroom pies."_

He scowled, unimpressed, as the huge eyes cleared once more and fixed on him again, appearing greatly confused, and looking for all the world like a myopic dragonfly. "What manner of prediction is this, charlatan?" he demanded. "You might be warning me to do naught more than avoid the kitchens. Yet fear not; I am a Steward, not a lowly cook!"

Plucking a cloth from the plinth, he loomed over the misty sphere, and grim and dangerous was his mien. "And neither am I _mad_!" he hissed furiously. "Begone with you, and never come back!"

With that, Denethor threw the soft cloth over the Palantír, blotting out Sybill Trelawney's magnified orbs-within-an-orb forever before storming away in disgust.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: Some text lifted (and amended) from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 37 : _The Lost Prophecy._

Trelawney was fairly obvious from the start (another quirky personality that was difficult to keep incognito until the end), but hopefully Denethor kept you guessing. Actually, now that I think about it, he was probably obvious from the very first line ...

*shrugs*

Anyway, I was always going to use the dotty professor, but could never think who to pair her with (or in this case _almost_ pair her with), so thanks to Larissa for the inspiration!

Kara's Aunty ;)


	16. Too Much of a Good Thing

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings, The Hobbit and The Silmarillion belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias.

**Too Much of a Good Thing**

* * *

"I love you," he sighed ardently.

The first one growled.

"I want you," he whispered passionately.

The second one snarled.

"I _need_ you!" he declared desperately.

The third one whimpered in fright. Suddenly ...

_Thump!_

Huan, Hound of Valinor, dropped dead.

Fluffy exchanged looks with himself, threw back all three heads, and barked with laughter.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: For those who haven't read _The Silmarillion _(or who last read it so long ago they might have forgotten), Huan was a great wolfhound of Valinor who was granted special powers by the Valar; one of which was that he was allowed to speak three times before he died. Poor sod ...

Kara's Aunty ;)


	17. Chanson d'amour

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings, The Hobbit and The Silmarillion belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias, wordhippo, Wayne Shanklin (who wrote the song the title's taken from), Art & Dotty Todd and Manhattan Transfer - two artists who recorded versions of it (thanks to Trucker for reminding me).

**Chanson d'amour**

* * *

There was little warning of their unexpected guest. One moment they had been sitting in Elrond's office, catching up on the happenings of the day, and the next there was a sharp rap at the door, and a harried-looking elf popped into the room.

"Forgive me, lords, but there is most unusual messenger outside who demands admittance immediately."

Elrond's forehead crinkled in concern. "Demands? Who comes to Imladris making demands?"

"Fear not, lord. 'Tis no enemy. 'Tis … well … 'tis a Dwarf, of sorts."

Confusion swept the lordly quintet.

"There have been no Dwarves in Imladris since Master Bilbo Baggins first visited us," said one.

"Perhaps Glóin brings news from the Lonely Mountain. 'Tis rumoured the Enemy is slowly resurging there," speculated another.

"A Dwarf, of sorts?" enquired a third. "What mean you, 'of sorts'? 'Tis either a Dwarf or not."

Instead of an articulate reply, the elf yelled aloud and began hopping around on one foot, nursing his ankle as if it had just been violently kicked; this freed the doorway for the impatient arrival, who barged through it in a flurry of golden wings.

Jaws dropped and everyone rose in unison as a short, stocky being, of no greater height than a hobbit, stormed up to them. He stopped, thumped his golden harp on the floor, and surveyed them moodily before speaking.

"D'you 'ave any bleedin' idea 'ow 'ard it was to get here?" said the new arrival accusingly. "Middle bleedin' Earth! 'S'not exactly a stone's throw from 'Ogwarts, is it? You couldn't've lived somewhere a little closer, could you? Like, oh, I dunno, Papua New Guinea?"

"Who are you?" demanded Elrond, the first to have found his voice.

"'Oo am I? What, are you blind? I'm a bleedin' Valentine dwarf, aren't I? An' I've got a musical message to deliver to _him_."

He jabbed a tiny finger to Elrond's left, and four pairs of eyes swung questioningly to his quarry, who shrugged helplessly.

Without further invitation, the mini-dwarf stomped over to his target, put one hand on his hip, and waggled the other up at the elf's face. "Right, you; sit your arse down, 'cos I'm not strainin' me bleedin' neck lookin' up at you."

Someone sniggered as the elf fell back into his seat (in astonishment). His companions retook theirs more sedately.

Pleased by his success, the dwarf stepped back, cleared his phlegmy throat loudly, unrolled a piece of parchment with one hand and threw the other arm out wide. In a deep, throaty voice, he began to sing.

**o0o**

"_You're hotter than Potter_

_and cooler than water._

_D'you fancy a roll in the clover?_

_You're dreamy and steamy_

_and utterly creamy,_

_and I'd love to lick you all over._

**o0o**

_Athletic, prophetic,_

_your voice is poetic._

_Your face screams of masculine beauty._

_You're cracking, you're packing,_

_you're oh so lip-smacking._

_You're such an adorable cutie._

**o0o**

_I've waited, elated,_

_discombobulated._

_You've got me so deep in a tizzy._

_Pulse racing, amazing,_

_wish we were embracing!_

_The mere thought of that makes me dizzy!_

**o0o**

_You're funky, and hunky,_

_amazingly spunky,_

_and you've won me over completely._

_You're handsome and winsome,_

_and charming and then some._

_And I want to have your elf-baby!"_

**o0o**

Having discharged his duty, the dwarf took a step closer to his gobsmacked goal and glared up at him warningly. "She'd better not 'ave your elf-baby, mate – she's only fifteen!"

With that, he thrust the parchment into the elf's slack hand, picked up his harp, and stormed back out the office grumbling about the difficult journey home. In his wake he left twin elves shaking with laughter, Erestor eyeing the now empty doorway in bemusement, and one ancient half-elf rising cautiously from his seat.

Approaching his friend slowly, Elrond tugged the parchment from his grip. Grey eyes flickered over the song once more and when they reached the bottom he paused.

"Kisses and cuddles from Romilda Vane." He frowned. "Who is she?"

Slack-jawed, stunned, and utterly mortified, Glorfindel had no answer to give him – even if he had been capable of speech.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: Please bear in mind that just because one of the two (in any of these chapters) likes the other, it does not necessarily follow that their affections are returned. As for this particular chapter, let's just imagine Romilda (somehow) stumbled across the Mirror of Erised and saw the magnificent Glorfindel within its depths, shall we? Another case of unrequited love for her, though - Glorfindel would never, ever consider her. Poor little fangirl ...

I could've had her going all fangirly over Legolas, but that would've been too obvious, methinks. Besides, Glorfindel is _much_ hotter!

Kara's Aunty ;)


	18. Time Gentlemen, please!

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Time Gentlemen, please!**

* * *

Somewhere above, a bell rang, indicating the start of the bizarre ritual that was supposed to find her a mate. Still sceptical about the whole process, she nevertheless settled herself down as the first suitor arrived.

Amber eyes regarded him balefully; he was larger than the norm for his kind, blacker than midnight, and extremely restless. He hopped from one foot to the other, his calculating glaze sliding over her, studying her as if she were no more than an object under a microscope. He didn't even attempt to talk; not one 'How do you do?' or 'D'you come here often?'.

After thirty seconds of utter silence, she got the message: he fancied her about as much as he fancied a boot up the backside. Not that she cared, really. She had seen Death Eaters with more charm and personality than him.

She looked him over one final time, disapproval clear on her face, and he emitted a harsh croak of offence.

Ugh! He sounded like a chain smoker. How utterly disgusting!

With that thought in mind, she paid him the ultimate insult by turning her back on him.

The bell rang, drowning out his harsh protests, and by the time she turned back round, he was gone. In his place was an enormous naked bloke: almost lizard-like in appearance, extremely ugly, and _absolutely_ stinking. Unfortunately, he wasn't nearly as indifferent to her as his predecessor.

Typical, really.

His ghastly eyes roamed over her body, devouring the sight of her, and a pale tongue shot out hungrily in her direction. Alarmed, she dodged it, and it shot past her. Outraged that this stranger would take such a liberty with _her_ (what kind of a tart did he think she was?), she caught it on its way back to him and nipped it viciously.

_Very_ viciously.

He practically flew from his seat, roaring in surprise and pain. Puffing out her chest, she took a few threatening steps towards him and, terrified, he fled well before their minute was up, giving her a whole forty-five seconds to compose herself before the next suitor arrived.

And Merlin help the idiot if he was anything _akin_ to the pervert she had just chased off ...

The bell rang. Resigned to another unpleasant encounter, she was still unprepared for what came her way. A blingy behemoth with golden eyes and rippling muscles perched himself across from her, where he proceeded to preen himself thoroughly.

He _was_ hot, she admitted reluctantly. Smoking hot, as a matter of fact. Unfortunately, he knew it; he spent fifty-five seconds of their precious minute together fondling his own chest and generally making her feel quite ill, before suddenly turning to her and saying, "I am quite, quite magnificent, am I not?"

_No. You are an arse without legs,_ she thought disparagingly, as the bell rang and he lumbered away.

Merlin! Were there no normal people in this place?

Feeling completely disillusioned by the candidates so far, she decided to give it up as a bad lot and leave. But just as she was about to head off, a cultured voice made her pause.

"May I have this seat, my lady?"

_My lady?_

Turning, she froze in astonishment at the sight before her. Her newest suitor was large enough to make her feel dainty and delicate, but not large enough to appear as oafish as some of those who had gone before him. His handsome face was noble and proud, his eyes unmistakably intelligent, and he bore himself in a regal manner that screamed of class and sophistication.

Already he was the king of her heart, and she was his smitten minion.

Settling himself down, he studied her for a few moments through smouldering orbs.

"You are the fairest maiden I have ever seen," he concluded, admiring her lily white complexion and shining eyes.

Oh, my!

Ruffled by the compliment, she had to fight to maintain her dignified façade. But it was not to be ...

"Let me be your love bird, my little turtle dove!" he entreated passionately. "Follow where I lead, and I shall make a queen of you!"

With that he rose and – never taking his eyes off her - hovered nearby, awaiting her decision.

Not that there was anything to decide: let him be her love bird? _She_, be his queen?

_Yes puleeaase!_

Dignity abandoned, Hedwig hooted happily before rising and following in Gwaihir's magnificent wake. And somewhere far below them, the bell rang again. Redundantly ...

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: I know, I know. Speed-dating as a premise for finding Hedwig's life mate … But the thought tickled me at the time.

Anyhoo, in case you haven't guessed, the first 'suitor' was a crebain, the second a Fell Beast, and the third Smaug. As if the stately Hedwig would ever entertain any of _them_.

Don't know how she and Gwaihir plan to 'get jiggy with it' though, given their height difference. Best not to think about that …

Kara's Aunty ;)


	19. Imaginary Friends

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K Rowling, etc.; Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit:** Unknowable Wiki

**Dedication:** To frodothejedi, who gave me the 100th review for this crossover series (only my second fic ever to hit the triple-digit mark!)

**Imaginary Friends**

* * *

He was sitting on an old tree stump outside his house one clear starry evening, humming a slow tune, when she appeared out of the trees. She stood gazing at him shyly; the most peculiar-looking being he had ever seen, shifting nervously from foot to foot, to foot to foot.

To _foot_.

"Greetings, fair lady!" he called in surprise.

Small ears flickered back and forth when he spoke, and the silvery moonlight shone through the purple hairs protruding from them, making them sparkle.

"I have not seen your kind here before. Will you not join me?" he invited, rising.

Frightened, she disappeared.

Disappointment surged through him. He debated whether to follow her, but decided against it - if he chased her, she might never return.

Retaking his seat, he began to hum once more. To his astonishment, she returned a few moments later. Thrilled, he stood again, beckoning the peculiarly pretty lass forth, but again she disappeared.

How very strange!

Several more times that evening the ritual was repeated: he sat and hummed, she ventured forth, he spoke to her, she disappeared …

Eventually, he spotted the pattern.

Retaking his seat one final time, he hummed his melody anew, and again she appeared. But this time he ignored her, opting instead to hum louder, more merrily, until she pirouetted into the glade, bobbing her pretty head and moving her five feet in time to the music.

_Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp-stamp! Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp-stamp! Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp-stamp!_

She looked so happy and carefree as she danced under the starlight; stamping and jigging and twirling, hopping and spinning around and around, looking for all the world like a very bizarre (and very drunk) fairy unicorn.

Astonished, delighted and utterly charmed, he beamed like a hobbit in a mushroom field, humming and clapping long into the wee small hours so that his pretty lady might stay and entertain him. And so the enchanting ritual continued, night after night, for many long years of Men, until he eventually won her trust and both became the very firmest of friends.

Thus it was that he alone ever met the only Crumple-Horned Snorkack in the world; and when he finally tired of his duties in Middle-earth, Radagast the Brown took her back with him to Valinor to live forever in the gardens of Yavanna, leaving nothing behind but the rumour of her existence ...

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: Not a love story per se; not even very humorous. I did research the C-H S, but (unsurprisingly) there's not much info on it, and what there was I had to use sparingly in case it gave the game away too soon. The five legs are a complete invention of mine, but hey! They seemed to fit. If the C-H S can have a crumpled horn and hairy purple ears, why not five legs as well? Makes it seem more bizarre ...

Either way, I _do_ love Radagast, so he had to be included in this series – but there was _no way_ I was having him perving about with one of Luna's imaginary friends!

**wink**

Kara's Aunty ;)


	20. Duet

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit:** thainsbook dot net, HP Lexicon, wordhippo.

**Duet**

* * *

o0o

Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?

It's left me for a spell.

Bewitched by your silvery voice

and those cute ears as well.

o0o

Madam, I am most honoured that

an artiste such as you

esteems my humble talents quite

as highly as you do.

Alas! You err in one respect,

this news I must impart;

seek not in me true love for I

do not possess your heart!

o0o

Oh, come and stir my cauldron, dear

and if you do it right,

I'll boil you up some hot strong love

to keep you warm tonight.

o0o

Madam, desist! Your wantonness

cannot be deemed genteel.

I beg of you, choose wiser words

to express what you feel.

Or better still, choose none at all,

for we can never be;

'twould be like pairing weed and oak

if you were paired with me!

o0o

Oh, darling elf! You're very wrong,

it needn't be so tragic.

Once our lips meet in love's first kiss

you'll soon discover magic!

o0o

Alas, madam, it cannot be

in vain do you await,

for me to pledge my love for you.

I shall not be your mate!

It grieves me to be so unkind,

my full wrath to uncork;

but hear me well and know that I

would sooner kiss an orc!

o0o

I don't think so. _Imperio!_

Now you are mine forever.

So, dear Lindir, let's you and I

make sweet music together ...

o0o

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: Some of Celestina's lyrics courtesy of 'A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love' and ' You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me' (both from _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince_, Chapter 16).


	21. Duel

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit:** George Lucas.

**Duel**

* * *

The mysterious Enemy took pause from their battle, his features concealed beneath a dark ensemble which leant him an air of true menace. His breathing and his voice were both horribly distorted beneath the sinister black mask, and it made his wounded opponent tremble to hear them.

"Gandalf never told you what happened to your father," taunted the Enemy, gazing down at his wounded opponent, who nursed a bleeding stump where once a right hand had been.

"He told me enough! He told me_ you_ slew him."

The Enemy took a dangerous step closer, and the weight of that step upon the branch almost sent his bleeding opponent plummeting to his death. A gloved hand reached toward the ailing warrior; inviting him, it seemed, to accept his foe's aid.

"No," hissed the Enemy. "_I_ am your father."

The words echoed throughout the forest, and then the very air about them stilled. Ragged breath caught in the wounded warrior's throat, and he stared in stunned disbelief at the looming figure ahead.

It was a lie. An untruth. It _had_ to be. It was incomprehensible!

But once said, the words could not be unsaid.

"No!" he cried, shaking his head in violent denial. "No. 'Tis not true. 'Tis im_possible_!"

"Search your feelings. You _know_ it to be true!" cried the Enemy as he reached up with one gloved hand to remove the hideous mask, beneath which lay ...

"**NOOOOOOOO!**"

Horrified by the sight of a smirking Lucius Malfoy, Legolas leapt to his doom …

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

___Author's Note_: Dialogue adapted from the fabulous Star Wars, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back.

This 'pairing' comes courtesy of a prompt by LunaPadma, though this was probably not the scenario she envisioned!

Kara's Aunty ;)


	22. Snake Charming

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, etc. Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

**Credit: **thainsbook dot net.

**Snake Charming**

* * *

She watched curiously as he stumbled bemusedly into the Leaky Cauldron, looking lost. Greasy hair fell down to his shoulders, and his face was pale, his dark eyes heavy-lidded as they swept around the room. He was covered in a dark robe which billowed out behind him when he stepped forward.

Hmm. A mysterious stranger. Alone in the Leaky Cauldron? How interesting …

Within minutes she had him cornered. At first he was horrified by her appearance (most people were), but after some gentle persuasion (with her wand) he soon settled into a booth with her. Add a never-ending supply of Firewhiskey to the mix (which she had to pay for) and soon she was privy to the most extraordinary tale of espionage, treason, potions, horcruxes, and lamentations of love lost.

"As pale as a lily and twice as lovely, she was," he moaned, nursing his fourth drink. "I could have given her anything she desired and more. I could have made her my queen! Had I not successfully duped my master into believing I was loyal to him? Years of scheming and lying, all in an attempt to position myself just _so_? And all for her! Yes, for her I became a figure of hate, one who is despised by all. Yet their hatred was as naught when compared to the promise of her. But she spurned me! Why, when I wield so much power and influence? Tell me why?"

His pasty face was a picture of outrage, and his dark eyes glittered. Anyone else might have found his weak chin and plaintive cries stomach-curdling. But not her. For the first time ever, she found a subject …

Sexy.

Maybe it was the accent. Or the deep devotion he appeared capable of. Perhaps, instead, it was his self-confessed talent for subterfuge and deceit, and the lengths he would go to to get exactly what he wanted. These were all things she could relate to.

True, he had been unsuccessful in his endeavours, but he showed definite potential. With her magic and his talents, who knew what they might achieve together? Now, if she could only wrest his devotion away from the ungrateful wench who'd shunned his passions.

His passions … Oh! What she wouldn't give to experience them!

Yet perhaps she could. Misery did, after all, love company, and she was more than happy to be a shoulder to cry on for this shining example of cunning, this outstanding specimen of masculinity!

"It sounds to me like you've been the victim of a terrible misunderstanding," she remarked sympathetically, casually refreshing his drink from the half-empty bottle. He blinked and stared at her in something akin to wonder.

"A misunderstanding? Yes. That is exactly it. I was merely attempting to be of service to my people."

"Of course you were. And they repaid you with suspicion ..."

"And mockery!" he interjected heatedly.

She tutted. "And mockery. People are often scared of what they don't understand."

"And suspicious of change," he finished, frowning slightly as he studied her. "How is that you can see so clearly what they could not?"

"I'm just perceptive, that's all," she said modestly. He stared at her in renewed fascination, his gaze so intense it made her blush for a moment. She could feel her heart banging loudly in her chest as his eyes dipped to her throat, then her cleavage.

She nearly lost it right there. Desire gripped her so shockingly that there was a real danger she might leap across the table and ravage him where he sat.

What in the name of Merlin was going on? This had never happened to her before. She was a professional! A ruthless, relentless bitch … er, witch ... ever on the lookout for an angle to exploit, with a reputation for being completely and utterly merciless to boot. That was what made her so successful in her chosen career. That was what commanded the respect of everyone who met her. Was the sight of one dewy-eyed stranger really enough to undo all that?

His humongously long tongue darted out, moving rapidly back and forth to wet his lips while he stared transfixed at her heaving bosom.

Well, when the stranger in question was little more than a male version of herself, then yes! Who could blame her for being attracted to him?

Decision made, she smiled, and leaned across the table slightly, affording him a better eyeful of what lay beneath her low-cut blouse. Taking his hand in hers she gazed up at him coyly through her lashes.

"It sounds to me like what you need is some good publicity ..."

Among other things.

"... and it just so happens that I'm the very woman to help you get it. I'd be happy to scratch your back, if you'd scratch mine, figuratively speaking."

_And_ literally. As long as her back wasn't all he scratched.

Leaning forward a smidgeon further, her scarlet lips widened in what she hoped was a fetching smile. It worked. Firewhiskey dribbled down his chin as the glass missed his mouth, and he stared openly at her 'proposition'.

"As pale as a lily and twice as lovely," he whispered covetously.

Satisfaction flooded her, and heart skipped a beat when he raised his eyes, now twin pools of desire, to meet her gaze.

"Tell me, oh fairest of ladies," he said huskily, "know you of somewhere we might ...er … discuss our mutual business?"

Did she know of somewhere? Hah! They didn't call the Cauldron 'leaky' for nothing.

"Of course I do. If you'd care to step into my office, Mr ..."

"Grima, son of Galmod."

Grima. Mmmm. Sooo promising. It only made her want him more.

"Though oft, and cruelly, I was called Wormtongue."

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and the aforementioned tongue darted out unconciously to run itself over his lips once more.

Worm, indeed! More like _snake_. And, as a former Slytherin, she knew just how to charm it ...

"Well, Grima, if you'll just follow me, we'll see what we can do about, er, fixing that reputation of yours," she purred, deliberately choosing not to Summon her handbag. Instead, she bent slowly down to pluck it from the chair, so that her blouse hung loose again, and Grima's tongue went into overdrive as he moistened his chops repeatedly.

"My lady ..." he began.

_My lady?_

His form of address flattered her (colossal) vanity, and fanned the flames of her (not insignificant) desire.

"Rita," she informed him, attempting an air of aristocratic sophistication. "_Lady_ Rita Skeeter."

"Then, Lady Rita, allow me to follow you to the ends of Arda itself," he growled, mentally undressing her while he shot from his chair.

Straightening, she laughed seductively and accepted the arm he offered. "The ends of Arda, eh? That's very sweet, but really quite unnecessary."

Because, fortunately, the Leaky's guest rooms were a lot closer than that ...

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note_: I'm trying not to imagine that love scene. But somebody pass me a sick-bucket anyway ...

Kara's Aunty ;)


End file.
